ISO and BP

BP went up to 202/116 on Friday night as my ankles swelled to elephantine proportions. No headaches but would not have been surprised if I had exploded. Took the methyldopa and it went down to 157/108 three hrs later. By morning, it went down to 144/98.

Told Paul abt this when I saw him today. His eyebrows went up at the measurements and we concluded that it was stress-fatigue related.

That day I had worked until 4pm despite usually knocking off at 12.30pm. It was ISO around the corner and I was feeling the heat. So busted my gut on the PC, chasing people for signatures, hammering out two articles for the web, formatting documents etc. No lunch until 2.30pm.

So no wonder the BP went up like a flare on the titanic...

I am SO not looking forward to tomorrow... more ISO chasing...

What a night!

The past few nights have been tiring - Owain has had this phlegmy cough for the past two weeks already. Seen the dr twice but cough/phlegm does not seem to clear. And the awful thing about this is that he coughs at night in his sleep and because it must be tickly/sticky type of phlegm, it chokes the boy and makes him gag. We've had our share of night-time puking in bed for the past 2 weeks.

It was ok when KH was here - he would be the one to jackknife up in bed, propel the boy up and let him cough/puke into his hand. It was harder for me because of my belly - slower response and by the time I sat up clumsily, the damage was done and the puke all over the bed. Not exactly my idea of night-time aromatherapy.

But like I always said, things tend to happen when the man is not around. Last night he had to go to Batam because of an early morning training session starting the next day. So I was alone last night with the kids.

Before we slept, Natalie Cole was on and Owain and Cait were dancing to L-O-V-E. Specifically, jumping on the bed. Next thing I knew I saw O do an accidental upside down jumping jack OFF the bed. He landed head first. The bang was phenomenal. You never saw a hugely pg woman move faster. I went: "Shit!" and dived down to grab him by the arms. His legs were sticking up and of course, the boy was yowling. But lucky fella didn't even have a bump, just a red spot.

That was incident number 1. Number 2 was a puking incident in the middle of the night. The puke went everywhere - the sheets, the comforter, my nightgown, his PJs. It was no joy cleaning up. And the smell!!

Incident number 3 was not a big deal, but the guy woke up just when I was inching myself off the bed to go take a pee. And howled the place down. Usually with KH around, he would yowl too but I was ok with it. But since no one was around, I carried him to the loo, sat on the can and put him on my lap while I did what I had to do.

Luckily KH will be back tonight.

The last time

As parents, I think our lives are filled with firsts and lasts, with significant dates, with milestones. The first time the baby smiled, the first laugh, the first turn, first crawl, first step, first word etc.

But here's a milestone I never thought about until now when it was way too late.

When was the last time I carried my babies in my arms?

Looking at my children, now 10, 8 going on 9... when was the last time I carried them as a toddler, child, baby? When did I put them down for the last time and never realised it was the last time?

Did I think to myself, how heavy and how big they are getting? How old were they? What was the occasion? Was it something as innocuous as sitting them up on the counter for a drink of Ribena? Or carrying a warm, sleep-filled body from the car?

The first time I carried them of course, I will never forget. Straight after birth, as their warm, wet slippery bodies slide from mine - straight onto my belly and into my arms. How I marvelled at their features, their birth so euphoric. That one could never forget.

Yet the last time I would carry them as a baby should be no less important. And yet I can't remember it.

One fine day, I carried them for the last time, put them down on their feet, watched them go on their way and that was it.

Why was this milestone never consciously recorded in my mind?

Oh sure, I still have other babies, one still yet to be born. And for now at least I will consciously remember to note THIS milestone. But as time passes and in the ordinariness of the day to day, I am sure I will forget.

And one day I will sit down and think: when was the time when I really, finally held my babies as babies, for the last time?

And by then, they would have all grown up and my arms would be permanently empty, without that familiar ache.

Hand Foot Mouth Disease hits Riang

Now on top of the dengue plague, the Chongs are at risk of HFMD. Don't ask me how we got it. Owain was the first to show signs.

We were at the Asian Civilisations Museum having our lunch before going for the Journey of Faith exhibition (more on that later) and I was trying my darndest to feed this kid who was whiny, fussy and off his food for the past few days. It was only when I peered into his mouth that I realised why - poor baby had MANY tiny ulcers peppering the inner cheeks and lower inner lip! My Gosh, if I had that many ulcers I wouldn't be able to eat too!

The ulcers rang a bell, so I promptly checked his hands and his feet. Voila - tiny red dots, some already with water-logged blisters.

After we finished touring the exhibition, we headed for Mt Alvernia. Dr Mom hits the jackpot again - confirmed HFMD.

That was Sun. Monday the tiny ulcers had joined the dots and formed a BIG ulcer the size of a 5cent coin in his inner cheek! But by Wed, he was fine and all spots were clearing. Yesterday, I noticed spots on Cait's knees. Suspecting HFMD, I checked and yep - she had all the signs. But not fussing, not feverish etc. Seemed like a mild case. Or maybe just due to the protective nature of being a breastfed kid.

Now all that's left is to wait for some kid somewhere to get the pox and Owain can attend a pox party. Cait, Isaac and Gill have got it already.

$100 larvae

Was in the loo when my son calls me from home. The NEA officers are at the door asking to check our pots for dengue larvae. Because the outbreak this year has been so severe and widespread, the good folks at NEA are now checking vigilantly and fining even first-time offenders for harbouring the nasty mozzies.

I can't complain - especially since I had a nasty case of dengue just two years ago that resulted in a hospital stay with my 8-week-old baby bunking in with me.

So this morning, the NEA came and checked our pots. We have three pots of water plants. One small water lily and a bigger plant in a deeper earthen pot in the back garden with a water spout. Both these water spots were ok - they had fish in them and the guppies - hardy little buggers - gobble up any stray larvae that are in their territory. So no worries there.

Unfortunately, we also have a smaller pot, which for some unfathomable reason, was hostile to fishes. Any and every fish that went in there died. So we bought some granular insecticides guaranteed to be anti-mozzie and put some in.

Today, despite the insecticides, the NEA dug around the pot and found one, yes ONE, wriggly miserable little larvae. And so we were fined. I think it was a hundred bucks. I don't have the details yet. But this has got to be THE most expensive mozzie ever!

Damn those bugs. We could have had a sushi meal.

Why do taxis here always smell of musty long-leftover pandan leaves?? And why oh why does the mouldy smell stick to one after a ride in such a taxi?

Some cabs need to have a smell reality check.

BP this morning was 138/107. I chose not to take my meds and now I am feeling crappy. And fretful about IUGR. While every measurement of the fundus show that this is on track, and there is NO IUGR, I am still worried.

Call it gut feel. Call me anal.

Just got a feeling that baby is smaller than the norm. And I worry if this is due to the chronic high BP. And then I don't take my meds like a bloody hero. I think the going was good from week 24 up to the last couple of weeks - when my BP behaved. But the periodic spurts in BP, shooting up to 166/110 in some instances, have got me feeling a bit freaky. Paul says reactive blood vessels. But I think the good times are over and its back to regular monitoring and possibly, back to regular meds. I certainly don't feel as good as I did in those weeks when the BP was really down. More dull naggy headaches, more nausea, more jitteriness, poor sleep. Yep, sad to say but i think its time to hit the meds. Again.

Why do taxis here always smell of musty long-leftover pandan leaves?? And why oh why does the mouldy smell stick to one after a ride in such a taxi?

Some cabs need to have a smell reality check.

BP this morning was 138/107. I chose not to take my meds and now I am feeling crappy. And fretful about IUGR. While every measurement of the fundus show that this is on track, and there is NO IUGR, I am still worried.

Call it gut feel. Call me anal.

Just got a feeling that baby is smaller than the norm. And I worry if this is due to the chronic high BP. And then I don't take my meds like a bloody hero. I think the going was good from week 24 up to the last couple of weeks - when my BP behaved. But the periodic spurts in BP, shooting up to 166/110 in some instances, have got me feeling a bit freaky. Paul says reactive blood vessels. But I think the good times are over and its back to regular monitoring and possibly, back to regular meds. I certainly don't feel as good as I did in those weeks when the BP was really down. More dull naggy headaches, more nausea, more jitteriness, poor sleep. Yep, sad to say but i think its time to hit the meds. Again.

Here's to Slugger Chiang!

Someone on the Catholic-moms group got me thinking about grandad today. These days, he is not often on my mind. Only during mass when the priest says something like: "welcome our departed brothers and sisters into your kingdom." Someone told me then that I should name the loved and the lost and they will be remembered, their time in purgatory shortened by the mention and the prayer. I try like mad to recite the names of my loved and lost, but I can never catch up - the priest moves on so quickly and I wonder if my list made it to heaven in time.

But other than that, these days, slugger chiang is not consciously on my mind. Until today.

Old Slugger Chiang. Boxer, medicine man, mechanic, wife-beater, dog-lover. Dementia sufferer.

Yes, my late grandfather had dementia. It came on gradually but within a few years, he had lost all knowledge and memory of us. Yes it is sad, but yet in a way, it also isn't. I don't know whether this is called karma or purgatory on earth or just paying for his sins (I don't know how to put this sensitively). But his BD (before dementia) days and AD (after dementia) days were radically different ones showing 180deg changes to his personality.

BD he was fierce, with a short fuse and an explosive temper. I still remember the infamous stories about how he used to beat my grandmother, my mother, my uncle. Fling things, fling people. A famous one was about how he threw a chair at my mother and my 8-month preggie grandma got in the way to take the blow. The chair landed squarely on the belly. The baby died. My grandma told the doctor she fell down the stairs. Why did he behave like this? Frustration? Poverty? He was not a drinker, a smoker, a womaniser or an inveterate gambler, but times were hard and the money was scarce, what with the war and all.

Why would my grandma marry a man like this? And yet, according to my grandma, it was a love match. In the days when match-making was common - particularly for a girl from a privileged perankan family as hers, she refused to be match-made and chose slugger. To the appalled amazement of her family.

Slugger tried to make ends meet. He was a mechanic with the British army. But when they pulled out, he lost his job. Then he tried to sell medicine. I remember going on rides with him to the kampongs, along bumpy dusty tracks, where at the destination, he would open his briefcase and show - wow - the whole paraphernalia of colourful bottles, boxes, tablets etc. It was fascinating.

At one point, he even boxed professionally for money. Hence the moniker Slugger Chiang. He wasn't half bad I think. But all the aggression, the rage, the pain, the injury must have gotten to him somehow. And so he was short-tempered and blew up in terrible rages. Yet I have also heard of a softer side - about how his favourite child was his second daughter, who would dance out to him when he returned after a hard day's work and call him "Papa!". He loved the girl and how his heart must have broken when they had to give the child away to lessen the burden for food and shelter. At less than two years of age, she was given away to a barren couple - my grand-mother's brother and his wife. It was the belief at the time that this would help a barren couple conceive. They did - but that's a whole other story.

Did the loss of his little girl cut so deep that the fuse just got shorter and shorter?

I don't know. But he was always kind though gruff and like, most Asian patriarchs, leaning to the stern and incommunicative at times. And then there was his infamous temper. I still remember him chasing me and grandma round the house with a chopper until we hysterically locked ourselves in the bedroom! It sounds really funny now and I can even smile, but back then, it was damn frightening!

But I have good memories mostly - how he would take me to the movies - the old pontianak movies, the crappy thai horror movies about snakes, crocodiles and black magic, the kungfu movies which are now classics... how he would take me on long drives to Changi beach, passing lovely green jungle, open fields, kampongs, swaying coconut trees and when we were in the sea, how I would cling on to his hand and still feel safe. Grandad was barrel-chested - a big man and with him, I knew nothing would harm me. I have good memories of how he used to play that old song "Hey Fatty Bom-Bom! Sugar-sugar dumpling!" and dance with me. And then when he took care of my baby brother, how he would gently and patiently rock the sarong cradle and sing tunelessly "Rock, rock, rock!"

When my aunt gave him a smelly and flea-infested shih-tzu, how he loved it and treated it like his own child. They would jog together - the fat, short-legged pooch panting and scurrying along beside him. And when the dog died, how sad he was. He never got another dog.

Then one day, I think in 1990, he fell while jogging. And while he recovered from that, it was really the slow route to the end because he was never the same again. He lost the old vitality and strength. And slowly, but surely, his mind.

He finally passed away on New Year's Day 2001. At the end, he was like a little child. Very innocent and so trusting, so loving. It was hard watching him go bit by bit. In his last years, I was introduced to him all over again whenever I visited him. And five minutes later, he would get this blank, polite look and ask, "Hello, who are you?" and introductions came all over again. It was darkly, heartbreakingly funny. He had a stately gentleness with little children - including my own. And they were never afraid of him or frustrated. They laughed and played as comrades. He enjoyed cartoons.

We're Catholics. So we believe in purgatory, in hell, in paying for our sins, in life after death and the whole shebang. My mom, my grandad's daughter, said once: that we pay for our sins - whether in purgatory when we die or on earth when we are alive. She thought grandad's dementia more than paid for his sins on earth.

Yes, he was violent and abusive when he was a younger man and yet by the time he died, he was the gentlest soul alive -wouldn't even hurt a fly. Losing his identity, his ability to care for himself, his autonomy and his very self, the loss of his very life and all his memories and personality may seem to us who still have these, as something so hard, so tragic and painful.

But yet, in a way, it is so redemptive. When he died, we just knew - this man at his death, did not belong in purgatory or anywhere near hell, for all his sins when he was 'alive'. He had more than paid for them all. And when he died, he was, in essence, just a toddler, a child. Innocent and trusting and loving. It was so ironic yet fitting. I think we have never loved him more than when he was so totally lost to us.

Still, I love and remember him for his strength as a younger man, his fearlessness and at the end, his sweetness. His niche at the columbarium says: I fought the good fight.

I think he did.

Owain is very adorable. He just turned two on Aug 31 - happy Malaysia National Day! And Happy birthday little prince!

He loves guns, fighting, star wars, kung fu. I don't know where he gets it from. I think his testosterone levels are higher than that of his bookish elder bro Isaac.

His latest heart-melting trick is, when I carry him and say: give mommy a kiss, he grins and turns my face with both hands and says: “Other side!” then he gives me this big wet kiss, grins and says: “Icky!!” He also lurrrves taking pictures - particularly when I whip out my mobile phone. Then he would grin a big grin and strike a pose - his favourite kungfu pose.

The boy melts me like ice-cream. Until he says in a well-rehearsed big rush - pleasemommyiwantnen-nen! and tries to undo my buttons, stick his hands down my blouse and generally tries to be a real laleche lech!

Nope, nursing these days is definitely not a pleasure but a definite pain in the boob. It does not help that he nurses till he falls asleep and then the jaws of death literally clamp down on the boobies. I try sticking my finger in to pry open the Jaws of Death and just when the nipple is al-most out, his reflexes kick in and he sucks it back in frantically again. It is excruciating.

The anorexic looking girl is Cait – isn't she thin?? She does not eat much these days. Loves ballet. Very creative when it comes to dance – her latest is pretending to be a seed. Where she curls up, then I ‘water’ her and she slow stands up, feet apart, extending her arms above her head with her wrists meeting and palms open. Then she explains – her body is the stem. Her legs are the roots. Her arms are the branches and the open palms are the leaves.

When she’s not pretending to be a seed, she loves to dance – hip hop music, loves to paint, play with her barbies and boss everyone around. Isaac always complains that she is the MOST bossy girl he has ever seen!

Hey speaking of Hi5. Anyone been watching the latest episodes lately?

I've noticed that the girls, Kathleen, Kelly and Charlie are ALL putting on weight - the most obviously plump pigeon being Kelly. Nicely rounded that one!

And I am happy with that - that for once, we are not bombarded with images of skinny celebs obsessed with weight loss and there are healthily plump yet good looking role models on TV.
Dunno abt you but I was shocked when I saw RuiEn during the NDP telecast - she was stick-thin! And with all the hoopla/ads abt losing weight in the media, celeb endorsements etc, I wonder what messages are being sent to the girls these days.

Just saw an obviously anorexic girl with her harassed-looking mother at KKH the other day - and wah lau, she was THIN!

So kudos to the girls on Hi5 for being healthily fleshy yet not overweight. And to the people at Dove for the great ads on the real woman's bodies! We need to learn to be comfy in our own skin and not try to look like laundry poles.

I can still see the tear-stained face and hear the frantic howls as my 2yr-old son struggled in the arms of my helper and my MIL, straining for me to hold him and not leave. This morning was particularly bad. Also because he looked extra cute and endearing in his giraffe PJs. He does not listen as I pacify: "Just for a while, baby. Mummy will be home in the evening okay?"

It never gets easier and always, always tears at the very core of me. I'm sure every working mom feels like this. Although I am already working 2.5days a week, when I do leave for the office, the howls never fail to get to me.

And with those come the self-recriminating thoughts: bad mummy! negligent mummy! Oh the guilt... and the fervent wishes that I didn't have to leave.

And yet, conflictingly, when I am at home and busy with emails, research, and he comes padding up the stairs and calling: "Please mummy, I want nen-nen!" I cringe and flinch and say: "There's no more nen-nen" or "It hurts mummy to give you nen-nen now!"

Then I think: Ok, true that the nipples are still sore thanks to pregnancy and Ok, true that there is no more milk, but aren't I a bad mommy for denying this baby his comfort? Why aren't I practising what I preach about the wonders of child-led weaning? Why aren't I excited about extended breastfeeding and tandem nursing? Bad mummy! negligent mummy! Selfish mummy!

Then I usually sigh and say, "OK, ok come up here and nurse but just for a while!"

Then he's happy again. And as I latch him on, I mutter: needles, needles, take deep breath. OUCH!

There's no latching him off of course, the guy inevitably falls asleep at the breast. And then I guess it doesn't matter anymore whether I am a bad mummy or not.

Spent yesterday slogging away at the PC working on my assignment for the grad dip. Was tearing my hair out after reading academic paper after academic paper on genetic sex testing and selective abortion and the whole ethics of it. Didn't help that the whole assignment comprised of questions that stretched for pages and I only have less than a month to complete this and send this off to Aus! On top of that, it was bloody hot - which made me sleepy! And the baby was so active, moving around inside the whole time. Admitted to KH and Cory that I was so dispirited abt the whole thing - never mind getting a distinction, I just want to pass and forget abt it!

Then in the evening, a nice surprise. The post came and with it, my marked assignment back from Aus. This was on Pregnancy, a paper which stretched to almost 100 pgs and one I completed recently after a one-year hiatus from the course. I didn't think I would do well with this. So imagine my surprise and pleasure when I saw my grade and realised they'd given me a HD - High Distinction! Now that made my day! Especially when I read through the comments attached to every answer and saw that Elaine (my examiner) had written 'fantastic answer!' next to my piece on breastfeeding obstacles.

Am I gloating now? Oh boy yes! Do I have the right to gloat - hell yes! Let me explain why.

This is a graduate diploma - which means that one would have to have a prior qualification eg a degree in a related field eg nutrition, lactation, midwifery etc. I don't. I don't even have a degree. So I had to come into the course as a special entry student, given conditional entry and only allowed to stay if I demonstrated I could handle the material taught by passing two of the written assignments. I did. So they let me stay. It hasn't been easy to grapple with the material though. And generally, for the other assignments I have been graded with credits with one scoring just one mark short of a distinction. So the last thing I expected this time was to get a HD! I am SO over the moon.

For so many reasons, I am determined to do well in this course. (1) I am the only Singaporean here (2) I want my family to be proud of me, since I do not have a basic degree (3) distance learning is tough - especially when you have so many children and hold down a job as well but I am determined to prove I can do it - chalk it down to stubborn pride! (4) this holds the key to a new career for me and the chance to be my own boss doing something which I love, so I cannot give up no matter how tough it's going to get. (5) this qualification matters because it is the only CBE course accreditted by a govt. The only other local alternative is self-accreditted. And doing well and getting this qualification tells me at least that I have gone through and passed a rigorous training programme and am well qualified then to teach. I would not feel ready otherwise with other courses and would feel as if I am shortchanging the people I teach.

Next stop, the workshop in Sydney, then exams in Jan, supervised teaching phase, observations etc...

But for now, yes... just give me a couple of days to gloat and float...

I walk to the lift and I hear someone walking so close to me that he or it is practically on my heels. There is a snuffling breathing. I am afraid to turn my head and wonder if I am being paranoid - this being the seventh month and all.

As I walk, I am sure I sense someone walking behind me. The footfalls seem to mirror mine. But I still don't turn back - why? Because you know what they say: in the seventh month, never, whatever you do, never ever turn back when you sense something or someone following you. Or calling your name.

So I don't. I keep walking though the hair at the back of my neck is standing.

At the lift lobby, something red flashes by me and I give a jerk back in fear. Turns out to be a guy wearing a red sweatshirt. He was behind me the whole time. OK, I almost never talk to students - never really had to interact with them since I am not a lecturer. But now, in my relief I wag a finger and tell him: You gave me a fright! Don't you know never to sneak up on a pregnant woman? And never, ever in the seventh month!

He looks at my big belly and says, not comprehending: I'm sorry, I didn't know you were seven months pregnant.

I go: I am, but that is besides the point. Don't you know anything about the seventh month??

The boy shakes his head - poor guy, don't they teach them these juicy fun bits in school anymore??

I end up giving him a mini-lecture on chinese culture and the seventh month. All the way down to the first floor. He forgot to get off at 3rd. ;-)

Thanks Kelvin Tong, for those scary trailers on The Maid. Yep, I can sure sleep easy now.

And no problem, it will just take my chicken-hearted 9-year-old son maybe a couple more weeks before he can watch your trailer without his fingers covering his eyes.

Well, been toying with the idea of a blog for some time. But then always stopped because I read too many funny, hip, cool entries and think I can only be boring. Who would want to read about me?

Then I think: I need to vent and the whiteness of the page is a safe place to do this.

So here I am.

This will replace the diaries and journals I kept since I was 13. There is some safety in anonymity. Or am i being naive? Or just my ostrich self sticking my head into the ground. There I go - navel gazing again.

I think too much.

I'm in the office, punching away at this keyboard. Braxton Hicks contractions are going nice and tight. The baby is no longer hiccuping. It was just a couple of minutes ago. When you're more than 7months pg, all-the-time is the right time to head for the loo. Too much ribena.

Apparently I also drink too much. : )